When John met Sherlock
by Squeak the Mouse
Summary: When John Watson wins a scholarship to a posh all boys boarding school he's terrified he won't fit in with everyone else. Then he meets Sherlock Holmes who has a habit of not fitting in anywhere. So how are two weird kids going to cope at a school full of "normal people"? Apparently, not very well.
1. Chapter 1: A Strange Meeting

Chapter 1: A Strange Meeting

"Which house will you be in at school again?" Mrs Watson asked her young son.

"Churchill Mum so I'll need all the red ties and stuff," her short, blonde son John replied nervously. He was only going to get the uniform for his new school but already the butterflies were starting in his stomach. The problem was that he wasn't going to the local comprehensive with all his three best friends for life from primary school; he'd won a scholarship to a select all boys' boarding school. He'd worked hard to get the scholarship yet he felt like he wasn't doing the right thing at all. What if he didn't fit in with all the rich, posh kids he was going to meet? What would happen if he got homesick? Mrs Watson had reassured him that everything was going to be alright but John wasn't too sure.

The bell to the shop rang softly as the Watson's entered it which was like entering an entire new word; John had never seen so many blazers, straw hats and special cricket shin pads in his entire life. He felt like he should've worn his best suit rather than jeans and an old stripy jumper.

"What can I do for you?" a young gentle looking woman asked Mrs Watson.

"I need a complete school uniform for John here," she replied with a smile.

"First year? Well there's another young boy here looking for all his first year clothes too," the shop assistant said brightly. John felt like throwing up.

She led Mrs Watson and John into a back room to join this mysterious boy. At first he didn't seem to notice them as he was complaining loudly to a young man in a designer suit who was lounging in the chair next to the mirror.

"What's with the stupid hat?" the boy asked, glaring at his reflection. John noted the red band on the straw hat which meant that they must be in the same house. Oh God.

"It's a tradition at St. Patricks School to have those hats Sherlock so you'll just have to get used to it," the ginger man next to him replied sternly.

"Whatever Mycroft. I wonder how many drops of hydrochloric acid it'd take to burn a hole in it?" he mumbled.

"Don't be an idiot Sherlock," Mycroft snapped back.

Mycroft? Sherlock? How posh were these people?

"I hope everything's fine Mr Holmes," she said, addressing the elder man.

"Yes everything's fine. My brother will just have to get used to his new uniform," he replied. Sherlock was made a very rude face behind his brothers back, sticking his tongue out and waggling it from side to side.

Mrs Watson pushed John forward from where he'd been hovering by the door, making him stumble slightly over his trainers which he noticed weren't his best pair but instead the ones covered in scuff marks. Damm it.

"I'm sorry if we're interrupting but I just thought it would be nice if I could introduce my son to another first year in his house. He's a bit worried about going to boarding school you see," Mrs Watson said cheerfully. John looked down at his scuffed trainers with his face glowing like the setting sun.

"Well my brother doesn't know anybody either so this will be an enormous help," Mycroft Holmes replied, nudging his young brother forward with his umbrella. The two boys stared at each other for what seemed to John an eternity.

"Sherlock Holmes," Sherlock said, offering his hand. Now that they were this close John realised how tall the boy was for an eleven year old.

"John Watson," John mumbled nervously, shaking his hand quickly.

"So you're in Churchill too?" he asked with some interest. He didn't seem either friendly or the reverse, just curious.

"Yeah I am," John replied. He couldn't think of anything else to say so he let the uncomfortable silence hang in the air.

Sherlock cocked his head to one side. "Did you get the full or the half sports scholarship?" he asked.

"The full one... hang on how did you know that?" John asked in amazement. It would be plain to the most half witted of people that he was only going to a private boarding school on a scholarship; but how the hell did he know it was the sports one?

Sherlock inhaled deeply. "Well-" he began. However, Mycroft interrupted him quickly before he could explain.

"Stop trying to be intimidating Sherlock," he warned sternly.

"I'm not," Sherlock replied with a glare, "I'm trying to be friendly." This struck John as an odd way of being friendly yet this Sherlock kid actually wanted to talk to him rather than punch him repeatedly in the face.

"It's OK, it was just a bit weird having someone I've never met before know all that, it was like you read my mind," John said with a touch of awe in his voice.

"I didn't read your mind, I just had to look at you," Sherlock explained. Despite his nerves John grinned back at his strange new acquaintance that seemed to be just as weird as he was. John was sporty but got good marks in class. He played the clarinet yet he could win a fight against Tough Terry from down the road. There were just too many conflicting characteristics in his personality for most people to deal with. Everybody knew that John Watson was a weird kid so he was pleasantly surprised to find that there were other weird kids in existence too.

"Well we'll be off then," Mycroft suddenly burst out loudly. "Come on Sherlock." He ushered Sherlock into a side room to get changed.

Mycroft turned to face John. "Don't worry, you'll soon settle down at school. I've spent the last seven years there which were some of the best years of my life," he said.

"Oh, so you're only just left?" Mrs Watson asked.

"Yes and I almost wish I was going back," Mycroft replied with an air of sadness. John wasn't too sure if he really meant it or not so smiled politely back.

Sherlock walked back into the room wearing his ordinary clothes. Well, John presumed they were ordinary yet to him a shirt, black trousers, long black coat and blue scarf were anything but ordinary. Mycroft said his farewells as he sauntered through the door followed by Sherlock.

"I'll see you at school then?" John asked as Sherlock reached the door.

"Yes, OK then," Sherlock replied with what John thought to be surprise. He nodded so his raven black curls bobbed up and down then left.

"Well he seemed like a nice enough boy John; a bit strange though," Mrs Watson whispered to her son.

"I'm going to try and be friends with him Mum," John replied. He'd found another boy just as abnormal as he was (if not more so) so he was determined to stick to him like glue.

The next hour was very tedious for John as he was fitted for his school uniform, then his P.E kit then his swimming trunks ("Yes John, you have to wear swimming trunks with the school logo on so stop complaining"). Then there was his school trunk with the logo on and his school bag until John felt completely overwhelmed by it all. Once it was all together John privately agreed with Sherlock Holmes that the school hats were indeed the most ridiculous item of clothing anyone could have ever dreamed of; whoever designed it must have been a sick, twisted person. All in all John was very glad to leave the school uniform shop behind.

Once John and Mrs Watson arrived at home all John wanted to do was escape up into his room but Mr Watson and Harry (John's older and louder sister) wanted to see him in his new uniform. He entered the living room ten minutes later rather sheepishly, holding the hat behind his back.

"John put your hat on," Mrs Watson ordered. John slowly put it on as Harry burst into peals of laughter.

"Oh John you look ridiculous! You look like you're in a barber shop quartet or something!" she shrieked. John threw a cushion at her with deadly accuracy.

"Ouch John you little git!" she squawked

"I think you look very smart John," Mr Watson said proudly.

"Thanks Dad," he mumbled.

"Now go and put it away carefully in your wardrobe and don't you dare crease it," his Mum warned.

"OK Mum," he muttered, rushing out of the room. He ran upstairs into his room and collapsed onto his bed. He loved the peace and sanctuary that his room offered so he wasn't keen to leave in September to live in a dormitory with other boys. It had taken him years to get his room just the way he wanted it; there were his Manchester United posters on the walls, his school certificates pinned to the notice board above his desk, his shelf of carefully polished sports trophies and his clarinet and music stand in the corner. He wasn't sure how much of his stuff he could take with him to boarding school and the thought of leaving all these things behind filled him with an unnameable grief.

Still, he had the promise of a friendship with Sherlock Holmes to look forward to once he got to school. And all the boys slept in house dormitories so he knew at least one person he was sharing a room with. Maybe boarding school wasn't going to be so bad after all.


	2. Chapter 2: Baby Steps

Chapter 2: Baby Steps

11:34, 12:27, 01:43, 02:17... Every hour or so John woke with a start and checked his watch then tried to settle back down to sleep. This cycle repeated until he gave up at around four; so he sat on his bed in silence, waiting for his parents to wake up. This was it, this was the big day. In a few hours time he'd be on his way to St. Patricks School and wouldn't be able to come home until Christmas. The thought made his stomach somersault.

Everything was packed in his room with the exception of his sports trophies and childhood toys. His posters had been carefully folded and placed in his trunk; his wardrobe was completely empty apart from his school uniform. It didn't look like his room anymore.

Still, he'd worked damm hard to get that scholarship, beating another fifty boys who'd wanted it so that meant it must be a popular school. That was all fine and good, John thought, but he wished it was only just down the road so he could go home everyday to see his Mum and Dad. He might even miss Harry even though they never really saw eye to eye on anything.

He heard the unmistakeable sound of shuffling footsteps in his parent's room across the hall so John poked his head out of his door just as Mr Watson slumped out in his dressing gown and slippers.

"Morning John, you're a bit eager aren't you?" he joked.

"Umm... yeah," John mumbled.

"Come on John, it'll be fine once you settle down," Mr Watson reassured him. "We're both coming to see you off; we're not going to completely abandon you."

"OK," John whispered. He followed his Dad downstairs to the kitchen. He was too nervous to eat the toast he was offered so he drank a cup of tea instead in his favourite Manchester United mug. That was another thing that couldn't come with him to school which meant that his morning routine would be ruined.

Mrs Watson appeared a few minutes later after a failed attempt to get Harry up. It was her first day back at school too which meant that every five minutes or so Mrs Watson had to stomp upstairs to wake her up again. Eventually, Harry arrived in the kitchen with her eyes puffy from sleep.

"Mornin'" she muttered as she munched on her toast. Now that all four of them were crowded around the kitchen table John realised that having breakfast together like this in the morning was another part of the routine he was going to miss.

After they'd all finished John went to get dressed into his new uniform which consisted of trousers, shirt, blazer, tie, jumper, shiny shoes and the stupid hat. He thought he looked like an absolute prat but if everyone was wearing them he might look not look like such an idiot.

He returned to the kitchen with the mournful look of an undertakers apprentice and this time Harry didn't laugh at the hat which John appreciated. Mrs Watson then chivvied John into the living room to take a few photos of him in the uniform which John really didn't appreciate at all. Still, it was over very quickly.

Mr Watson then dragged John's trunk into the boot of the car as John collected a few things and stuffed them into his school bag and strapped his bike onto the bike rack. Harry started to cry.

"I'm gonna miss you John," she shrieked as she threw her arms around him. John, to his surprise, found himself hugging her back.

"I'll miss you too put I'll write as often as I can," he promised her.

She was still crying as John was clambering into the back seat car whilst his parents occupied the front seats. He waved furiously at Harry as the car turned off the drive until Harry was no longer in sight.

The drive to school took about two hours which passed too quickly for John's liking. His Mum and Dad had tried to make light conversation, mostly about how fantastic school was going to be despite John not listening. He nuzzled into the seat belt, looking at the harvested fields that flanked either side of the road and wishing that they could just turn the car around and go straight home.

"At least you'll know someone one you're there John, you'll know Sherlock Holmes and I'm sure you'll become friends," Mrs Watson said brightly.

"Yeah," replied John. It wasn't much but it was something.

St. Patricks School was located next to small village which the boys were allowed to visit on the weekend, yet this village seemed to be in the middle of nowhere. It was a good half an hour drive away from the motorway down a labyrinth of twisting lanes which John didn't think was very promising. Was the school put in such a place to make escape impossible? He was pretty sure it was.

Mr Watson drove the car up the long drive way to the school which was very intimidating to look at. It was a huge, stone building at least four floors high with football pitches scattered around the perimeter. John began to feel very small. They arrived on the crunchy gravel outside to the main entrance to the school which was covered with boys helping their parents unload their school trunks and bikes. John noticed that some boys wore a red tie and hat band like him; others wore green, blue or yellow.

It took a lot of coaxing from Mrs Watson to get John out of the car as Mr Watson was heaving the trunk out of the boot. A stocky man in a suit hurried over to help them.

"Thanks," Mr Watson spluttered when it was finally out.

"No problem sir; now who might this be?" he asked peering at John.

"I'm John Watson," John whispered, secretly impressed that he'd found his voice at all.

"Well hello John, I'm Mr Harris your head of house. The first few days are a bit daunting for first years but you'll soon settle down. That's a lovely bike by the way," Mr Harris said by way of an introduction.

"Thank you," John replied politely.

"You'll need to take that round the back to the red bike shed where all the students in Churchill store their bikes," he explained.

"Thank you sir," John said gratefully. Someone was being nice to him! This was better than he expected.

"No problem," Mr Harris said before rushing over to help another father extract his sons' trunk out of their car.

"Well he seems nice enough, I'm glad he's your head of house John," Mrs Watson whispered to John.

"So am I," John returned. As Mr Watson struggled with the trunk up the steps to the huge wood doors John and Mrs Watson went to find the correct bike shed. That wasn't too hard and once they were there John saw the person he had wanted to meet again.

"Sherlock!" John cried as he spotted him near the bike shed.

"Oh hello John, Mrs Watson," Sherlock replied politely. He seemed to have grown several inches during the last two weeks since their first meeting.

"You alright?" John asked.

"Yes I'm fine thank you," he replied quietly. John placed his bike carefully next to Sherlock's. "That's a nice bike," Sherlock added.

"Thanks, it was a birthday present. Yours is nice too," John replied admiring the flawless blue paintwork.

"Thank you," was the short reply.

Sherlock joined the Watson's as they walked back round to the front of the school.

"How long have you been here Sherlock?" John asked.

"About an hour. Mycroft dropped me off and I've nearly unpacked everything but I got bored," Sherlock explained.

"So you know where the dormitory is then?" Mrs Watson asked him.

"Yes I do."

"Brilliant! Would you mind showing John since we'd better start heading back?" she asked him.

"No problem," Sherlock said.

They'd reached Mr Watson who was standing exhausted by John's trunk. He was quickly introduced to Sherlock and assured that John would find the right dormitory.

"Well, we'd better go," Mr Watson said as he gave his son a quick hug. "We'll send you your usual twenty pounds a month pocket money," he added.

"We'll write to you at least twice a week John, and even more if you want us to," Mrs Watson assured him as she gave him a hug.

"Thank you," he choked, determined to hold back his tears. After several more instructions and promises Mr and Mrs Watson got into their car and drove off down the drive and out of site observed by their small, frightened son.

"Are you alright John?" Sherlock asked.

"Yeah I'm fine thanks. So... um... where's the dormitory?" John asked in his most matter-of-fact tone.

"This way," Sherlock said, pointing up a flight of stairs. Between them, John and Sherlock managed to heave the trunk up the stairs, then down a corridor until they reached a room full of squashy armchairs where everyone was wearing red ties.

"This is the common room," Sherlock explained. "You need to go and register with that boy there because he's the head of house." John did what he was told before helping Sherlock push the trunk into a room marked 'First Year Dormitory'. Inside there were five beds arranged around the edge of the room with a wardrobe and desk next to each one and a larger table in the middle with a few chairs clustered around it. Another door at the other end of the room led into the toilets and showers for the dormitory.

"Do you want the bed next to me?" Sherlock asked.

"Yeah sure," John said, relieved that Sherlock still wanted to get to know him even after he'd nearly cried saying goodbye.

The two boys unpacked their belongings in silence apart from the occasional question one of the boys would ask. By the time they'd finished John had found out that Sherlock played the violin, didn't support any football team and liked science.

They were just discussing how they'd find their way around school when two other boys dragged their trunks into the room.

The taller one introduced himself first. "Hi, I'm Mark Grattan."

"And I'm Steven McDonald," the other one said.

"I'm John Watson," John said.

"And I'm Sherlock Holmes. You're maternal cousins aren't you?" Sherlock asked. A deathly silence followed this question as Mark and Steven stared at Sherlock.

"Yeah, how did you know that?" Mark asked in amazement.

"It's simple really, you both look startlingly alike except for the fact that one of you is slightly taller yet you don't have the same last name, therefore you're maternal cousins," Sherlock explained.

"You're a sharp one, nobody's ever figured all that out before," Steven said, his eyes wide with shock.

"Nobody else is called Sherlock Holmes either," Sherlock said with a smirk. The two boys smiled nervously before going to unpack all their belongings.

"Sherlock, how did you know I had a sports scholarship the first time we met?" John asked as he tacked his last poster the wall above his bed.

"Well-"Sherlock began but he never got further than that. The door to the dormitory burst open to reveal a tall man with a small greasy-haired boy trailing behind.

"Just put my trunk over there Jones," he ordered. The man placed the trunk at the foot of the remaining bed.

"Now Master Bartholomew I must be getting back now. Have a nice time at school," Jones mumbled before retreating out of the room. Mark, Steven, John and Sherlock stared at the newcomer.

"I don't know what you're all looking at; have you never seen a chauffeur before?" he asked in an oily voice.

"Not in a school," Mark explained, "I'm Mark Grattan anyway."

"I'm Steven McDonald."

"I'm John Watson."

"And I'm Sherlock Holmes."

Bartholomew snorted before laughing. "What kind of name is 'Sherlock'?" he demanded.

"A better one than a Simpsons characters' name," Sherlock snarled back. John laughed quickly before stopping when he saw the glare on Bartholomew's face.

"Well I'm Bartholomew Anderson and I'm in charge around here," he growled.


End file.
